


Hold On To Us ('Cause We're Sure As Hells Not Letting Go)

by Annawry



Series: Variations on a Theme [2]
Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: D'Avin's Magic Dick, Fuck Or Die, Hullen!Johnny, Multi, Season/Series 04, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annawry/pseuds/Annawry
Summary: “We’re not risking Johnny’s life on an if.”“It’s your call.” Zeph says and looks at D’Avin. He can feel the weight of both their expectations, equally urgent, and swallows hard. He’s ready to say yes, ready to say that if Johnny dies then at least they tried everything, but the words get lodged in his throat.He meets Dutch’s eyes instead. Says, “Sabine,” and watches her expression go grim with recognition.





	Hold On To Us ('Cause We're Sure As Hells Not Letting Go)

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate version of events to A Cure for the Common Psychosis. I wrote the hurt version, so I had to write the comfort version, too.

_“Knife. I need a knife.”_

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Trying to stop the break from healing.”_

_“What the hells for, you moron?”_

_“Look! The parasite in the brain, it’s dying. When Johnny snapped his spinal column it must have triggered something. If I can hold the knife in long enough, and the parasite dies completely, he’ll be cleansed.”_

_“And dead!”_

_“Not if I can work fast enough.”_

_“We’re not risking Johnny’s life on an if.”_

“It’s your call.” Zeph says and looks at D’Avin. He can feel the weight of both their expectations, equally urgent, and swallows hard. He’s ready to say yes, ready to say that if Johnny dies then at least they tried everything, but the words get lodged in his throat.

He meets Dutch’s eyes instead. Says, “Sabine,” and watches her expression go grim with recognition.

“Take it out, Zeph.” she orders and gestures for her knife to be returned, without breaking eye contact with D’Avin. He’s weirdly grateful for that, pretty sure her anchor is the only thing keeping him from abruptly changing his mind.

“What, no, I can-“

“Zeph!” Dutch growls, tone brooking no argument, and Zeph hesitates but she still draws the blade out of Johnny’s neck and slaps it into Dutch’s waiting palm.

“We can try it your way later,” Dutch says, more reassuring now that Johnny’s life is a little less immediately at risk, “But there’s something else we have to try first.”

“I know who Sabine is.” Zeph snaps, “D’Avin, are you sure you want to...?”

D’Avin can’t answer, can’t make himself look at her. He’s grateful when Dutch answers for him. “We have to try. You need to go.”

“What? No, I can hel-”

“Go.” Dutch insists, finally breaking eye contact to fix Zeph with a glare and Zeph holds up her hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay!” she says, “Just... Yell if you need me, I guess.”

Dutch waits until she’s gone before asking, “Do you think it’ll work?” and D’Avin collapses forward onto his hands, coughing out something that vaguely resembles a laugh.

“I have no idea.” he admits.

Of course, Johnny chooses that moment to stir, and Dutch practically leaps to pin him down.

“Johnny. Johnny, listen to me.” she urges, cupping Johnny’s cheek with a gentle hand. “We can’t use the green, but maybe there’s another way. Maybe we _can_ cure you.”

Johnny’s not quite fully conscious yet, his brow furrowed in confusion. His expression clears right up, though, when he tilts his head and gets a look at D’Avin’s face. Blue eyes go wide and then he’s laughing helplessly, wild and angry and in pain. He smacks his head against the floor before either of them can move to cushion him.

“Desperate times?” he asks, “That’s not a cure, that’s a crapshoot, and you know it.”

“If it doesn’t work, at least we tried. And we have another idea, after that. You’ve got to trust us and let us try, Johnny.”

“Pretty sure I told you I was done being your guinea pig.” Johnny snarls, but he’s not fighting, and he doesn’t sound anything but exhausted.

D’Avin reaches over and grabs one of his bound hands, squeezing it. “If they don’t work, I’ll end it.” he promises, ignores Dutch’s sharp inhale and focuses on the way Johnny’s eyes narrow, assessing him for honesty.

“Pinky promise?” Johnny asks baring his teeth in some semblance of a grin, and D’Avin offers a very unsteady one in return.

“On my life. Just, you gotta work with me on this one, okay? I need you to fight the green, not me.”

Johnny’s eyes are still tracking over his face, so D’Avin tries to show how he feels, how determined he is to make this work, to try anything he can. After a few long moments Johnny let’s his head sag against the floor and closes his eyes.

“Sure. Sure, okay, why not.”

Their relief is almost palpable. Dutch lets herself sag against Johnny’s chest and then wrinkles her nose.

“Does that mean we can give you a bath? And find an actual bed?” she asks almost plaintively. “I’d really rather not do this on the cargo bay floor.”

“You’re joining us, Queenie?”

“You’re sure as hells not doing this without me.” she insists and D’Avin is so overwhelmingly grateful, he’d sink to his knees if he wasn’t already on them.

“Gotta keep it in the family.” he quips and his laugh is all heady hope when they both groan at him.

They’re careful helping Johnny off the floor, not wanting to disrupt the Hullen healing of his fractured spine, and unlatching the collar. Well, D’Avin and Dutch are careful, Johnny just cracks his neck from side to side when it’s off, clearly fine.

“Going to miss this.” He sighs. “All this strength and clarity.”

Dutch rolls her eyes and slaps him lightly over the back of the head. “You’d miss being alive more.”

“Don’t know about that. Ask me again how I feel when I can, you know. Feel.”

“Well right now I’m pretty sure you can feel how filthy you are. So let’s fix that.” Dutch shoves them both towards the door.

By some unspoken agreement they head towards Dutch’s cabin, keeping Johnny between them. Dutch with a hand in the small of Johnny’s back and D’Avin keeping one on a shoulder, restraint and reassurance both, though the reassurance might be more for him than Johnny. He exhales heavily when they get there and Lucy locks the door behind them at Dutch’s request. The cabin isn’t really that much bigger than any of the others, the bed a pretty standard one person affair, and the bathroom even smaller. There’s no way they’re all going to fit inside, so they compromise by keeping the door open, Dutch shrugging off the damage billowing steam might cause to her possessions. Johnny goes in first, of course, and his moan is almost enough by itself to get D’Avin hard, deep and gratified.

Dutch leans against D’Avin’s side while they watch. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmurs, voice low and almost lost below the sound of running water, “He’s never resented how you feel.”

D’Avin has to brace himself before he can look down and meet her eyes, beautiful and serious. He feels the denial die a quiet death somewhere in his chest leaving a hollow ache behind.

“Does everyone know?” he asks, weakly trying for humour and wincing when it falls flat.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him sometimes, that’s all,” she shrugs, “You love him.”

“I would never have-” he begins but Dutch cuts him off.

“I know,” she says, “ _We_ know.”

“I’d have kicked your arse if you tried anything anyway,” Johnny says, shutting off the water and grinning when they both look over at him, startled. He taps an ear and explains, “Hullen hearing.”

D’Avin can’t keep from sweeping his gaze up and down Johnny’s body, clean of all the blood and grime now, and slick with water, unashamedly naked. He feels kind of sick, old guilt and old desire crashing up against Johnny’s deliberate display. He clears his throat and keeps his eyes on Johnny’s face.

“Feel better?” he asks and Johnny scoffs.

“Clean. Not better. Either of you want to...” he tips his head back to indicate the shower, “Or can I get on this ride already?”

“Play nice, Johnny.” Dutch admonishes. She puts a hand on D’Avin’s shoulder. “It’s okay if you can’t do this. I’d prefer not to, but we can always try Zeph’s idea.”

“Is that option two?” Johnny asks, “Do I get a choice?”

Dutch glares at him. “Option two is our preferred last resort since it involves _killing_ you.”

“Okay!” Johnny raises his hands in surrender, an unknowing echo of Zeph, and D’Avin loves the way Dutch can intimidate with just a look. It’s one of his favourite things about her. “Option one it is.”

“Come on,” she takes D’Avin by the hand, leading him the short distance to the bed. “Strip and then sit up against the headboard. You,” she says turning to Johnny, “Get on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Johnny agrees irreverently, but he obeys and sits cross-legged in the middle to watch D’Avin pull his shirt over his head and fumble at his belt, trying to toe his shoes off at the same time, and thank god he’s physically coordinated or this would end with him on his arse on the floor. Instead he manages to stay on his feet and watch Johnny watching him, aware of the curiosity in Johnny’s eyes and something that looks almost like interest, though maybe D’Avin’s only seeing what he wants.

“You, me, or D’Avin?” Dutch interrupts their little staring contest, and rolls her eyes when they both just look at her confused. “Whose fingers do you want in your arse, Johnny?” and, oh, D’Avin’s mouth floods with saliva. Him, he wants to do that, he wants to press inside Johnny’s body, stretch that tight furl open with his fingers and maybe his mouth and definitely his tongue. He has to bite on it not to blurt that aloud, but the way Johnny is smirking at him D’Avin thinks he didn’t need to say anything at all.

“Ladies choice,” Johnny says to Dutch, without looking away from D’Avin or quitting with that shit eating grin.

“Me then.” Dutch shrugs, and rummages around in a draw for lube. “Get on your knees, face down.”

“I love it when you’re bossy.” Johnny’s still being cooperative though, shuffling to his knees and bracing himself on his elbows, head down, arse up. He hisses with the first smear of lube against his entrance, Dutch’s fingers deftly spreading it around. “You couldn’t have warmed it up?” he complains.

“Don’t be such a baby, it’ll warm up fast enough.”

D’Avin feels a little blindsided and light headed. He makes such an effort not to linger on thoughts of Johnny like this that he’d never considered what it would be like to watch Johnny with someone else, the little noises he makes as Dutch works a finger inside of him and the way he rocks back against her hand, wordlessly encouraging.

“Come on Dutch, you’re not going to break me,” Johnny goads. “ _That_ might though.”

D’Avin flushes when he realizes what Johnny’s referring to, his pants around his ankles and dick hard, already wet at the tip, and feels the bizarre urge to cover himself up.

Dutch presses a second finger inside and makes Johnny gasp. “Big, isn’t it?” she hums, sounding smug, like it’s hers to brag about, “It feels good, so good, I promise. Right on that edge of almost too much.”

D’Avin’s pretty sure he’s bright red, if the heat in his cheeks and ears is any indication. It’s not that he doesn’t know he’s hung, he knows Dutch likes it. But it’s different hearing her talk about his dick like that, like it’s a toy, and strangely embarrassing. It takes him a minute to notice that she’s watching him, fingers sliding in and out of Johnny’s slick and spread hole. “Get on the bed, D’Av,” she coaxes, “Back against the headboard. Good, just like that.”

She waits until he’s settled before tapping Johnny’s flank. “Up you get. Straddle him. Put your hands on his shoulders.”

“I’m beginning to think you wanted in just so you could tell us how to fuck.” Johnny grumbles as he shifts, but it’s half-hearted and breathless, and his pupils are blown when he’s positioned and facing D’Avin. “Hey, there, handsome. Ready to wreck me?”

“Promised you I would.” D’Avin retorts, and fits his hands around Johnny’s hips. His breath escapes in a hiss when he feels Dutch wrap a slick hand around his cock and guide it up against Johnny, but it’s Johnny that does the work, sinking down on it and letting his head loll back with a groan.

“Oh, fuck, that’s.”

“Good,” Dutch finishes for him, and presses herself along the length of his spine. Of the three of them, she’s the only one still clothed, boots still on and everything, but she’s moving along with Johnny as hitches himself up and then back down trying to work D’Avin’s length inside, her legs splayed on either side of his hips.  

D’Avin can’t help himself. He arches up and presses his mouth to the column of Johnny’s throat, working his way down to gently test his teeth against Johnny’s collarbones, tasting skin and sweat. Can’t keep from moaning when Johnny’s fingers slide through the hair at the back of D’Avin’s head, gripping and holding him there. It’s an effort not to move his hips and he’s trembling with it, with the mix of guilt and arousal and fear that’s churning in his gut, with the need to move.

“Please. Please, hells, Johnny, please.” D’Avin’s muttering against Johnny’s skin, breath making the skin there hot and damp, not sure if he’s asking for permission or begging for this to work. Either way, Johnny tugs hard at his hair and demands, “Fuck me.” And D’Avin lets his hips surge up, bracing his feet on the bed and back against the wall and using his hands to pull Johnny down to meet them.

Johnny’s unsteady cry of “Oh, _fuck_.” is pretty damn gratifying, as is the way his hands slap against the wall on either side of D’Avin’s head, trying to hold himself up.

“You gotta fight it, Johnny,” he gasps, staring at that gorgeous, familiar face. It feels like some kind of prayer when Johnny opens his eyes and stares back, like he can’t look away, and it feels right when Dutch fits a hands over one of D’Avin’s and presses the other flat against Johnny’s breastbone.

“Hold on to your human heart, Johnny.” Dutch tells him breathlessly. “You don’t want to keep losing us, so don’t. Hold on. Hold on to us, because we’re sure as hells holding on to you.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.” Johnny swears, shuddering apart between them. He comes with a sharp cry, making a mess on D’Avin’s belly, and then collapses forward, shaking abruptly turned to convulsing.

“Oh, shit. Shit, Johnny.” Dutch tips him back carefully, cradling his head against her shoulder and stares at D’Avin with wide eyes. “Is he...?”

“Yeah, ah, fuck.” D’Avin thumps his head against the wall a few times, gasping through the last of his own orgasm, and desperately trying to keep still so he doesn’t jostle Johnny’s jerking body. The convulsions seem worse that what Sabine went through, but not by much. When he can, he takes a deep breath and helps Dutch lift Johnny off him, so they can lay him out on the bed on his side, and watch green rivulets leak out of Johnny’s eyes and ears and nose, soaking into the sheets. He winds up crouching on the floor at the side of the bed and gripping Johnny’s hand tight in his own, so very fucking thankful.

Dutch leans heavily on his shoulder for a moment before straightening. “I’ll ask Zeph to come and run some scans.”

D’Avin hears what she doesn’t say, that she’s giving him some time to pull himself together and maybe pull on his pants while he’s at it. He grabs her hand, too, before she can turn away and looks up at her, speechlessly grateful that’s she’s back, that she’s her, that she loves them both as much as she does.

“We hold on to each other, okay?” she says, and squeezes his hand.


End file.
